The Story of a Band That Came And Went
by Mr. Awesome Guitarfreak
Summary: After getting drunk, Jimmy and Stu agree to be in a band. Unfortunately, neither of them play any instruments. So they have to learn all of this band's legendary songs before they go on tour in a month. This one leans more towards Rock Band, however.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: The Accidental Re-Forming of Poison Control**

"Aah!" Stu woke up thinking, "What the hell just happened?" Seconds after Stu woke up and took in his blurry surroundings, his head started pounding like a bass drum. He began to freak out also. This wasn't Stu's apartment. This was some guy's truck. Not even his truck. Once again Stu let out a scream of anxiety, looked to his left, and found another guy in the driver's seat of the truck.

"Can you keep it down?" said the guy. "I'm trying to sleep." The guy was clearly still asleep and blind to the fact that Stu was in his truck. His eyes slowly forced themselves into open position. Obviously hung over, the guy asked Stu,

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?" Stu responded.

"Well, since you obviously want to go first, my name is Jimmy. And as you can see, I'm still OOH! Headache just kicked in!"

"Damn, what did we do last night?" asked a very confused Stu.

"I-I have no idea. Did we get trashed?"

"Well, let's start with where are we? That- that always helps."

Jimmy and Stu got out of the truck and looked around. The pounding worsened thanks to the white noise of cars going by on the street beside them. The ground was grey, and then it hit them. They were in a parking lot.

"Well, if we're this hung over, we're probably close to a bar," suggested Jimmy.

"That or there's a six pack in your trunk. We're at an arena, dude," Stu replied.

Jimmy and Stu looked inside Jimmy's trunk. Sure enough, what was formerly a six pack of Dos Equis stared them in the face with a menacing gesture.

"Wait a sec. That's what we were doing. We were at a Foo Fighters concert!" exclaimed Stu. "Dude, look at my shirt."

Jimmy gazed upon Stu's black Foo Fighters T-shirt, perhaps the ultimate symbol of fanship.

"Also, look at the arena!"

The arena boasted a sign at the entrance that, in big letters, read "FOO FIGHTERS. 11/4"

"November 4. What's today?" asked Jimmy.

"Aw, man. I don't remember," replied Stu.

"You got a phone on you?" asked Jimmy.

"I don't know."

"Oh, wait. I might have mine in my truck."

Jimmy opened the door of his white '97 Chevy Tahoe and searched every compartment. He found nothing, but then he heard a ringing noise. Jimmy looked frantically for the cause of the ringing until he found his cell phone near his foot, just under the gas pedal. He picked it up and had a look at its screen. He jumped out of the car and saw Stu, still extremely confused as to where he was.

"Any luck?" Stu inquired.

"Maybe," began Jimmy. "I have a text from somebody saying we have a band rehearsal in thirty minutes."

"Who is it?" asked Stu.

"I dunno. Some guy named Geoff Harvey," Jimmy responded.

"Geoff Harvey? The drummer of Poison Control?" Stu wondered excitedly.

"I thought that name sounded familiar. He must have the wrong number. Why don't we call him and ask him what's going on?" suggested Jimmy.

Jimmy took his own advice and dialed Geoff Harvey's number.

"It's ringing. Still ringing."

"Hello?" said the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Geoff Harvey?" asked Jimmy.

"Jimmy! Sup man? Dude, I hope you and your friend are close. We have a band rehearsal in a half hour!" Geoff told Jimmy.

"Look, man," said Jimmy. "You must have the wrong number because me and my friend- we're not in a band as far as we know."

Jimmy looked at Stu. Stu shrugged.

"But the bar. Last night, when you said you guys were gonna play for us," recalled Geoff. "Don't you remember?"

Jimmy's mind flashed back a few steps. He recalled the scene at the bar immediately after Geoff said what he did.

It was a late night at the arena. There was so much energy and fun to be had. The fans were pumped and the Foo Fighters were about to take the stage. Jimmy had been in line to get in for ten whole minutes. (he's got a very low attention span) Finally, Jimmy had reached the front of the line. There was only one person ahead of him, and his night wasn't looking so good.

"Sir, these tickets have been photocopied. I'm going to have to ask you to leave," said the security at the front of the line.

"But dude. My friend gave these to me. He's like the most trusted person in the world, I'm pretty sure," said the guy at the head of the line.

"What's your name?" asked the security guard.

The guy responded, "Stu."

"Stu, your friend is an asshole for giving you those tickets. But there's nothing I can do about it. Please let the next person go."

"Aw, screw that! I'm out of here."

This Stu was Stu, who Jimmy had met. And at the moment, Stu trudged off and hung his head low. He was sad, yes, but somewhat pissed off as well. The picture of Dave Grohl on his T-shirt seemed to frown as well.

"Next person in line!" shouted the guard over thousands of screaming fans.

Jimmy stepped up and showed the guard his tickets.

"These tickets are copied, too! You guys got the same friend or something?"

"Nah, I never seen him before in my life and what did you just say?" said Jimmy as his sentenced evolved from one thought to another.

"Your tickets are fake. Now get the hell outta here. It's been a long night as it is," said the security guard.

Jimmy caught up to Stu.

"Your tickets are fake too, eh?" he asked.

"Yeah. That's the last time I trust that douche. Set me up with a fake ticket, why don't ya?" replied Stu.

"Who's your friend?"

"Josh Ackland, but he's not my friend anymore."

"I know Josh! Actually, I got my tix from him too. God. I should have known," said Jimmy.

"Hey, dude. There's a bar pretty close to here, and I bet we could hear the Foo Fighters we walk in," said Stu. Jimmy said, "Let's go," and they both walked across the street to the bar.

The bar, like any traditional bar, was poorly lit and full of crusty, old men drowning their sorrows in booze. Stu and Jimmy sat down at the bar and ordered themselves some Budweisers.

"Dude, chug it," Jimmy said to Stu.

"Arright. Time me," replied Stu.

"Bottoms up!" cheered Jimmy.

Stu tilted his Budweiser up so that the sacred liquid poured into his mouth. He glugged it down faster than Avatar blew our minds with its amazing CGI technology. Stu was down to a few drops left. His bottle was nearly empty. He sucked the rest down and nearly choked. But finally, it was done. Stu slammed the bottle on the bar table and gasped for breath. Everyone in the bar cheered and applauded.

"32 seconds!" yelled Jimmy. All of the bar's patrons carried Stu off his barstool and chanted his name. They set him down near an old table that was pretty much falling apart. Afterwards, they all went back and continued drinking. Jimmy maneuvered through the sea of people and caught up with Stu.

"Have you always been able to do that?" Jimmy asked.

"Do what?" replied Stu.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes."

Then, all of a sudden, a man came seemingly out of nowhere to congratulate Stu on his unusual talent.

"Great job, buddy," said the man.

"Wait a minute," Stu responded. "You're Geoff Harvey! The drummer of Poison Control!"

"Former drummer," Geoff sadly corrected. "If we can't find somebody to replace our singer and guitarist, then we're gonna have to split up the band."

"What happened to Benji and Shep?" wondered Jimmy.

"Oh, that's not important. You want another round on me?"

"Yeah, sure," Jimmy and Stu agreed in unison.

One round turned into two, which turned into three. This turned into four, and ultimately way past the point of drunk. So Geoff, Stu, and Jimmy leaned back in a booth in the bar with their heads spinning and all pain numbed out of their systems. Geoff Harvey had totally forgotten the reason he came here. And Stu and Jimmy weren't as mad about their mutual friend giving them fake tickets. All thanks to alcohol. But with every problem alcohol solves, as all you drunks out there know, another one it creates.

"So hey," said Geoff, while extremely wasted. "I- I think... Well, I saw. You guys, should, should totally be in my band."

"Oh, oh wow," Stu. "I, I think we should do it!"

Jimmy added, "But wait, dude. We don't play any instruments."

"No, no," assured Geoff. "It's alright. I think you guys are gonna be great."

"Oh, are we gonna get to meet Catherine. She's still in the band right?" asked Stu.

"Yep," said Geoff.

"Okay, I've had the longest crush on her for, like, the longest time," said Jimmy. "She's so... hot! Oh, my God!"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," said Geoff. "So whaddya say? We were gonna have a band rehearsal tomorrow at 11:30. So just show up at my place and, we can rock out!" he added.

And as those final words of, "...we can rock out!" rang in Jimmy's head, it all came back to him. _I couldn't have been that trashed, _he reasoned. But he decided there was no way of arguing with a man who had just lost half his band. So over the phone, Jimmy Winters said to Geoff Harvey,

"We'll be right over."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Meet Geoff Harvey**

Many people can't say they've had a day like Jimmy and Stu. Drunk, lost, and in a band with a multi-million dollar recording contract. The best of it is that neither of them play any instruments. As they drove in Jimmy's truck to the famed house of drummer Geoff Harvey, they listened to the radio. The song that played seemed to go on endlessly. The lyrics to Bloodhound Gang's "Fire Water Burn" seemed to drone on until the end of time.

_The roof_

_ The roof_

_ The roof is on fire_

_ We don't need no water let the motherfucker burn_

_ Burn motherfucker, burn_

The verse was very much the same.

_Hello, my name is Jimmy Pop and I'm a dumb white guy_

_ I'm not old or new but middle school, fifth grade like junior high_

_I don't know mofo' if y'all peeps be buggin' give props to my ho 'cause she fly _

_ But I can take the heat 'cause I'm the other white meat known as Kid Funky Fry _

"Man..." thought Stu. "Who the hell wrote that song?"

"No idea," replied Jimmy. "But he had to have been high, that's for sure."

"High enough to merge without looking?" asked Stu.

"Wait... What? Oh, shit!"

Jimmy panicked and tried to switch back to the other lane, but he couldn't. The Prius in front of him wasn't driving fast enough, meaning he was trapped in the middle of two lanes with no easy way to get out. Hoping he wouldn't be run over by the jerk in the Hummer behind him, Jimmy veered off into the left lane of the highway, hoping the Hummer wouldn't follow behind. However, his hopes would become useless, as the guy in the Hummer, who was on his phone, followed closely behind and stayed on Jimmy's bumper for a good two miles down the road. Finally, the Hummer Jerk exited into town and towered over the guy in the Prius from the other lane. Three miles and two fiery car crashes later, Jimmy and Stu miraculously made it to Geoff Harvey's house in one piece.

"Dude, should we just tell him we don't play guitar or sing?" wondered Stu.

"I guess so. But then there would be no Poison Control anymore. It would be a shame to see such a band just go down the crapper like that. Could you imagine if they had broken up Nirvana just because Kurt Cobain committed suicide?" reasoned Jimmy.

"They _did_ do that, though," reminded Stu.

"What? Did what?" asked Jimmy.

"Nirvana did break up because Kurt Cobain committed suicide. That's why they haven't released an album in 20 years," said Stu.

"See? So just don't commit suicide and Poison Control won't have to break up," said Jimmy.

_Stupid! Stupid! _he thought to himself.

Jimmy and Stu approached Geoff's front door. Jimmy knocked on the door, but Stu insisted on ringing the doorbell. He rang it incessantly for about ten seconds until Geoff opened the door.

"Stop ringing the damn doorbell!" cried Geoff.

"You answered the door, didn't you?" Stu reminded him.

"I guess I did... hmm. Well, uh, welcome to my house, guys. I see you forgot your guitars," said Geoff.

"That's because we don't play any instru-"

"What he's trying to say is that we don't have them with us because... um..." Jimmy thought about it for awhile after cutting off Stu. "We had to sell them. To-to pay the rent. Our apartment building has been charging a crap-ton of money since the cockroaches stopped infesting the place," added Jimmy.

"Ouch. I feel your pain, dudes," said Geoff. "You know what, though? I have guitars here that you could play! Why don't you come inside and I'll show you."

As the two new friends walked into Geoff's house, Stu whispered to Jimmy two critical and true words that could sum up their entire situation.

"We're screwed."

Geoff led the two gentlemen downstairs to his basement recording studio. It was carpeted and soundproofed and full of solid gold records, just like the ones at the Hard Rock, only cooler. Stu played with as many mixing board buttons as he could before going into the recording area. In there was a shiny, double kick drumset that looked like it had never been touched. On the contrary, however, this was the only drum set Geoff had ever used, and he intended to keep it that way. Also in the recording area were two Fender Stratocasters, one black and one red, with whammy bars and modified, solid gold necks.

"How the hell do you afford these things?" asked Stu in shock.

"Easy, I'm the drummer of Poison Control," replied Geoff.

"What do you do when you're not the drummer of Poison Control?" asked Jimmy.

"Well, I usually take long vacations with my girlfriend on my own private beach in Maui. Then, retreat to my private cabana to play video games and have wild beach parties with the members of Pearl Jam and Limp Bizkit," replied Geoff.

Stu and Jimmy were just too stunned to speak. Then Stu said,

"Aww, I hate them!"

"What?" asked Geoff in disbelief. "How can you hate the band that made the song Even Flow?"

"No, not them. Limp Bizkit. They suck," corrected Stu.

"I think I agree with you on that one, man," said Geoff. "Now, what's say you guys get playing those guitars. I mean, you are official members of Poison Control and all."

"Cool!" they both interjected at once. It was in the same instant that they both remembered. _Crap!_ They thought.

"Um... Geoff. Do you have any closets that lock from the outside?" asked Jimmy.

Geoff was a little surprised at that, but still, in his charming, matter-of-fact manner, directed them to the outside locking closet. It was upstairs, just outside of Geoff's bedroom. Jimmy and Stu shoved Geoff in the closet and ran back downstairs to the ground level.

"Dude, what are we gonna do?" asked a frantic Stu.

"I don't know," Jimmy responded. "But there's no way we can get out of this. We just have to come clean and confess that we're not really musicians."

"But dude," began Stu. "He just called us official members of Poison Control. That means if we back out now, we'll experience severe media backlash! Severe!"

"Dude, you're over-thinking it. We're not that famous. If anything, Geoff will just say that the band is done and won't make any mention of us at all," said Jimmy.

"I don't know, man. Something about that just doesn't seem right," said Stu.

"Something about what? Explain, dude!" yelled Jimmy urgently.

"No, no. I mean something about that!" Stu pointed to the gargoyle statuette on Geoff's dresser. "That's just odd. Do you see that?"

"Yeah, I do. But dude, we've got bigger problems!"

"You're right. Let's just tell him."

Even though Geoff was in the dark as to why he was in the closet, he would not soon be in the dark about the two newest members of the band.


End file.
